


Belong

by Blink_Blue



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Billy's in love with Frank, Group Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, M/M, Voyeurism, boys at war, no one will ever convince me otherwise, this is mostly smut, with some realness buried in there somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 08:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17915747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: Billy raises himself up slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he says hotly. “You don’t like me fucking other men?”Frank blushes red and glares at the wall.“Then don’t watch.”+Afghanistan. Billy has some needs.





	Belong

Billy’s groaning deep in the back of his throat, legs trembling and limbs aching as Johnson fucks into him from behind. Another sharp thrust has him crying out weakly as his hands fist the cheap government-issued pillow. He has to bury his face in it to muffle the incoherent, breathless noises that spill past his lips. (Not that anyone who  _ could _ be in earshot wouldn’t turn a blind eye to what’s going on in the seclusion of this particular tent.)

Neither the grunts behind him nor his own over-sensitive nerves can drown out the huff of annoyance from Frank, who sits, legs spread wide and arms crossed tightly across his barrel chest, looking every bit like a man who’s being wronged. Like Billy and the others are somehow robbing him of something his and  _ making  _ him be the silent watcher. Or maybe he thinks there are better things he could be doing on a cold, quiet night in the desert. With nothing but a guitar and some old letters for company. 

A particularly hard thrust from Johnson has Billy’s eyes rolling back into his head. But he manages to catch himself a second later, and with an  _ almost  _ casual flick of his head, he tosses his damp hair out of his face to scowl at his friend. 

“If you don’t wanna join, you can get the fuck out, Frankie,” he growls between his teeth.

Frank gives him a look like he might murder someone. 

Billy’s breathless laughter quickly turns into a helpless moan as he drops his head. He’s too tired, too fucked out and boneless to demand why Frank insists on being here when he doesn’t want to join in on the fun. He’s already come twice with Evans and Hoffman, and he’s far too over-sensitive to get hard again, even with Johnson’s hard and fast thrusts—a bit amateur, no finesse, like a teenager trying to impress his prom date. His soft cock hangs between his legs, pressing into the cot every so often when Johnson’s big, rough hands hold him down. 

That part he likes. 

The others left as soon as they were done. With Frank’s murderous glares, cold enough to make even the bravest of men cower and cringe. Billy didn’t blame them. 

But now he focuses on the thick cock sliding inside him. The hand on the back of his neck is rough and calloused. He assures himself that he went begging for Johnson’s cock tonight and fights off the budding feeling of agitation that builds in his stomach as a cold shiver runs up and down his spine. The hand behind him reaches up to clench a fistful of his hair and  _ tugs  _ harshly . 

Billy hisses through his teeth and lets out a sound like a dirty whore as he presses his ass back, pulling Johnson  _ deeper  _ into himself. He wants to fucking feel it when it’s over.  

Johnson’s cursing sharply behind him, mixed swears and praise about Billy being a good little bitch. 

Billy will make him pay for that tomorrow during field ops. 

He muffles a sharp cry as Johnson pounds into him roughly, his face pressed into the pillow by the harsh hand on the back of his head. Vaguely, he hears angry grunts coming from their spectator. 

He turns his head to glare at Frank, who despite all his complaints and the clear mix of anger and annoyance painted across his face, continues to simply  vex white-hot rage in his seat with a hard cock in his pants. 

“Get your goddamn hands off him.”

Johnson hardly misses a beat with his hips, but he does glance up to meet Frank’s glower with a crooked grin.

“You sure you don’t want some of this ass?”

“I said, get your goddamn hands off him, before I take them off myself.”

Billy rolls his eyes exaggeratedly when Johnson’s hands release from his neck. He lets out a weak, but deep-throated chuckle and his cock gives a half-hearted twitch at the sight of Frank’s protective side. A warmth rises from his belly at the familiarity. Frank knows more shit about his life than anybody. And he never gives him pity. Never treats him like he's less than because of what he went through. It’s part of why he loves the man. 

Johnson’s rhythm stutters and a few erratic thrusts later, he’s spilling inside Billy before just barely catching himself from complete collapse over Billy’s exhausted, limp body. 

Billy groans and savors the feeling of the other man softening inside him. It’s short-lived, as Johnson gives him a nod and rough praise as he catches his breath. The man doesn’t meet Frank’s eyes as he pulls away, ties off the used condom, and staggers out of the small encampment, still pulling his pants together as he goes. 

Billy sighs as he carefully rolls his neck, testing out aching muscles and limbs that feel like rubber. He feels terribly empty and a little bit disappointed that it’s over. And now he’s got to deal with Franks bitchy-ness on top of it all. He needs a drink first.

“You done?” Frank’s voice is rough with hostile annoyance. 

Billy turns a lazy gaze to his friend. “Why?” He smirks. “You want a turn?”

Frank scoffs and looks to the side. But the way his ears redden gives him away. 

A ridiculous notion runs through Billy’s head—and not for the first time. He tilts his head and grins, pulling himself up on his arms to better look at his best friend, whose uncharacteristic silence leaves Billy feeling like a guy with a death wish, repeatedly, dangerously,  _ stupidly,  _ prodding the goddamn bear. 

He grins at the anger that shines on Frank’s rugged face. Such rage directed towards each of the men that had used Billy’s body tonight. Because that’s how Frank sees it. Billy almost wants to laugh at the naivety of it all. Poor Frankie just doesn’t  _ get  _ it.  

“You sure?” Billy raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Come on, Frankie,” he drawls as he pulls himself up onto his hands. “I can take one more tonight.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you, Bill,” Frank scoffs. It’s said just a little too loudly. And he’s still refusing to meet Billy’s eyes. He quickly shakes his head like he’s shaking off the notion before it has a chance to really dig its claws into him. “You took ‘em all like a champ, but me? Nah, I don’t fuck like a tween getting his dick wet for the first time.”

“Try me,” Billy growls. Frank scoffs again and Billy grows indignant. “No? They why are you here? You get off on watching?” His eyes drop to Frank’s lap and he smirks. “No. Definitely not.”

“I’m here to make sure nothin’ gets out of hand,” Frank announces loudly.

“Out of hand?” Billy echoes.

“Because your dumb ass,” Frank growls, sounding more and more like a neanderthal with each passing second. “Your dumb ass doesn’t know when enough is enough.

Billy stares silently for a moment, his first instinct to fume inwardly and think,  _ what gives him the right?  _ And then he catches himself. He breaks out into a grin. “Aww,” he chuckles. “You want to make sure they treat me like a lady, Frankie? That’s sweet.”

He fights back a malicious chuckle as the other man scowls. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Frank growls. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I can take care of myself, you know that.” Billy runs his hand through his hair to pull the loose strands back into place. “Hell, you know that better than anyone.”

“Yeah, I thought so too, Bill,” Frank says grimly. “Now I’m not so sure.”

A flare of anger flashes white-hot through Billy’s veins. He breathes through his nose in some attempt to soothe his bruised ego. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What kind of sick bastard needs to take it like a bitch?” Frank snorts without making eye contact. “The fuck is this, Bill?”

Billy raises himself up slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he says hotly. “You don’t like me fucking other men?”

Frank blushes red and glares at the wall. 

_ “Then don’t watch.” _

That’s the real stab in the gut. Because Frank will never fuck him but he’ll always throw a hissy fit when Billy finds what he needs in other men. 

And yeah, it hurts, every single time. It leaves him sore and aching, for  _ days,  _ but always in a good way. It’s what he needs, what he  _ wants,  _ to toe that dangerous line between someone forcing him against his will and him knowing that he could rip the heads off any one of these men with his bare hands if he wanted to. 

Sometimes he thinks his childhood trauma seriously fucked him up in the head. 

His worst fear is that anyone else might think the same.  _ Poor Billy Russo.  _ Still the broken little orphan boy that no one wanted. 

But the sex he likes, and he gets off on it, so Billy tries not to think too hard about how messed up it is that he needs this. He never considered that his best friend might act like a spoiled toddler, but there it is. Every single time.

No matter the amount of prep that Frank witnesses, no matter how much lube they use, or how much time they take to stretch him carefully with their fingers… When they make him moan and beg for it in a way he’d never expected a bunch of marines to do… Frank always protests hotly. And vocally. 

Billy’s getting pretty fucking sick of it. 

He carefully stands on wobbly legs. He rises to his full height, using it to his advantage to tower over the other man.

Frank looks away from his nudity. He refuses to look at the dried cum that speckles his front. Or the bruises that are already forming on the younger man’s otherwise unmarred flesh. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked a hundred times before. And they’ve never been shy around each other. Now Billy steps towards Frank like a predator stalking towards cornered prey.  

“That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

To his credit, Frank looks around uncomfortably. “Look, Bill. Whatever you like, I’m not gonna judge—” 

“No, not judge, just demand to sit in the fucking room and watch, pissing and moaning like an asshole the entire goddamn time,” Billy spits. “So why so testy, Frank? Hm… I wonder if this has something to do with it?” He nods toward the bulge in the front of Frank’s fatigues. 

“Fuck off, man.” Frank says hotly, but between the two of them, they know there’s little conviction behind his words. So Billy decides to try a different angle.

“Come on, Frankie.” Billy whispers softly as he slides into Frank’s lap with a manic glint in his eyes. He hisses at the pain of the movement but swallows it down in favor of watching the other man thoughtfully. Frank looks uncertain, which is rare enough, and oddly flustered.

He knows the dangerous game he plays when he feels the other man’s hands come to rest on his hips, warm and steady. And strong. “Come on,” he whispers again, pressing close. “You gotta give me somethin’, Frankie boy.”

Frank watches him with hooded eyes. He doesn’t trust himself to move. Billy gives him a grin that is far from pleasant, and in that moment, he looks far younger than the age Frank knows him to be. His eyes are the blackest Frank has ever seen on a person, dark and dangerous and beautiful, like he’s teetering on the edge of sanity. 

“You really need it bad, huh?” 

Billy’s eyes widen just the slightest. Frank surprised himself with his words. His hands seem to move of their own accord, dragging over smooth skin and hard muscle, pulling the other man closer on his lap. 

Billy’s lips are warm and dry when they part. A gasp shudders out of them when a warm, calloused finger finds his hole and dips inside. He presses his hips down just right to take that finger deeper and his startled gasp turns into a moan. 

There’s plenty of residual lube for Frank’s finger to easily slide in and out of Billy’s used hole. It doesn’t burn the way it does when he’s stretched and fucked. But his muscles ache in a way that makes him want to sob. 

Billy drops his head against Frank’s sturdy chest. “Come on, Frankie,” he gasps. 

“You good?” Frank asks, his voice husky in Billy’s ear.

Billy’s affirmative is a broken off cry as Frank’s finger dig into him, massaging his prostate as he drowns in a wave of overstimulation. His nails scrape across Frank’s back as he holds on tightly, a sobbing sound whimpers deliciously into Frank’s ear.  

He shivers and trembles in Frank’s lap. The hand that’s not probing inside him is wrapped tight around the small of his back. It makes him feel wanted. Safe. 

The truth is, Billy loves being manhandled. He gives a startled yelp when Frank’s thumb brushes against his perineum. The double stimulation has him hard as a rock. 

“Do you want this?” Frank asks petulantly. 

“Yes,” Billy answers without hesitation. 

Kissing Frank is an entirely new,  _unexpected_ experience. Frank is forceful—in a way Billy likes to think he’s not when he’s with Maria. He tastes like desert air and canned beans. But underneath it all, there’s a hint of softness.  

It’s a shock that Frank is actually kissing him. Billy never really considered that this could be on the table. He’d always thought, with his face and his body, and the way men at war get with the loneliness… desperate for a little human touch, he’d always thought, _hoped_ maybe, that he’d have a chance with Frank.

But not this. Never this. Frank’s lips belong to Maria. And Billy could never be worthy of that. 

They break part with a gasp and Frank’s tongue brushes across Billy’s lower lip, chasing him. He’s almost strangely quiet, a contrast to the way Billy lets out soft little whiney whimpers. Despite how well they know each other, Billy can’t read a goddamn thing on Frank’s face. But he’s too swept off his feet to care. 

Billy practically curls into Frank’s lap as he drops his head. He relishes the feeling of Frank touching inside him while keeping him close. The feeling of being watched never leaves him, as an electric shudder runs through his veins. His eyes flutter open. He stares wide-eyed at his friend, who’s watching him like he’s never seen him before.  

Well, Frank’s never seen  _ this.  _

He watched Billy on his hands and knees for Evans, demanding that he fuck him harder. He watched the way Hoffman pinned him down and Billy  _ laughed,  _ asked if that was all he had. For Johnson, Billy cruelly called it a baby dick and questioned how anyone could get off on it. And Frank watched as Johnson made him take it harder and deeper. 

But this is different. 

Frank had watched, painfully, as other men fucked his best friend, one after another. He sat and watched their slick bodies trembling, moaning from the friction, their muscles jerking with exertion until they came. The whole time, his cock stirring hard in his pants as he watched other men, his fellow soldiers, brothers-in-arms, as they touched  _ his  _ Billy. And the strangest thing is, he never before thought of Billy as his. 

But now, as he trembles against him, little broken breaths spilling from his lips, he looks… vulnerable. And Billy is not someone who ever lets others see him as vulnerable. 

It awakens something inside him. A feeling Frank had only gotten once before. The day he met Maria. 

Something unspoken passes between them, like they understand somehow that they  _ both  _ need this. The look on Frank’s face is one that Billy rarely sees but craves with all his being. It’s hot and dark, demanding and possessive. Like Frank is claiming him. Like he  _ owns  _ him, in a way Billy never accepted but for this one man, who he’d lay his life down for… If Frank asked, Billy would never let another man touch him. 

Maybe it’s because Frank knows the worst thing that ever happened to him. And he doesn’t judge him for it, doesn’t even pity him. 

Frank is family. The one thing he never had. 

And now he holds him tight like Billy is something special, something to be protected, or worshipped. The narcissism inside him loves that. Frank is looking at him like he’s something to die for. 

His voice is a cracked whisper as he rolls his hips against Frank’s fingers and shudders helplessly.

“I got you, Bill.” 

Billy would have chuckled if his vision weren’t already going blurry. He pants as Frank continues to slide in and out of him, slow and gentle against his prostate, so unlike the men who had had him tonight. He should have known that Frank would know exactly what he needs. Of course. He should have been coming to Frank all this time. 

A strong hand runs up his back. A hot tongue laps against his neck, teasing his sensitive flesh until teeth nip sharply at an ear. He wishes those teeth would sink into his neck, leave some mark on him, something he can savor. To have as evidence that this was even real. 

His body rocks in a gentle motion as he gets closer. His cock aches and begs to be touched. But he knows better than to ask. He wonders if Frank thinks of that as the line. Is touching Billy's cock a step too far? Is  _this_  not a betrayal of his Maria?

He doesn’t get a chance to wonder much longer as his muscles clench and seize. Frank’s lips find his own again as he spills against their bellies. He gasps into the other man’s mouth as a tongue explores his own. Seconds pass for him to catch his breath and find his surroundings. 

Frank’s already pulling away. His nostrils fill with the air of war and Frank’s cologne. 

Billy lets out a deep laugh as Frank’s hands leave him. The sun had long set and the dim lights in the tent are all that keeps them from the darkness. 

He’s too tired to move. Frank must know this because he doesn’t bother trying to push him off his lap. Billy chuckles again. Deep in his aching bones, he feels a wealth of smug satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


End file.
